


Is Ebony Really All That Good?

by wrathwritesthings (leviathan_wrath)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Caffeine, I'm so sorry, M/M, Mutual Pining, NSFW, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, PWP, Penetrative Sex, Reads Like the Plot to a Really Bad Porno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 04:12:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11981886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leviathan_wrath/pseuds/wrathwritesthings
Summary: Yes, it is...After a long day out, Noctis spills Ignis' can of Ebony.





	Is Ebony Really All That Good?

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested on tumblr.
> 
> For the Ebony anon. NSFW Ignoct feat. a can of smooth, smooth Ebony. Many apologies in advance for butchering your faves.
> 
>  **Warnings:** NSFW, I’m Not Kidding Y’all, OOC Galore, Kinda PWP, Language, Noct is a Brat, Iggy Can’t Take it Anymore, Dom!Iggy, Sub!Noct, Very Vanilla, Not Explicit, Super Vague, But... Obviously Smut

**Is Ebony Really All That Good?**

Caffeine withdrawal is a pain that Ignis Scientia knows all too well. He’d had to suffer through it on especially hectic days looking after Noct back in the Crown City (he’d spend _hours_ anxiously driving around the city trying to find the prince only to get a severely belated text response from Noct that he was hanging out with Prom at the arcade) and even on days like today where he and the others were stuck for hours upon hours in a dungeon swarming with daemons.

“No rest for the wicked,” he’d teased Noct back in Crestholm Channels when the prince complained about the deluge of daemons. Little did the tactician know that they would be stuck trekking through the sewers and fighting off imps for the better part of twelve hours.

The dull ache that nestles into his frontal lobes has a soft, aggravated sigh leaving his lips. Green eyes glance up into the rearview mirror, locking onto the bored prince who hoards the snacks in the backseat like a dragon with a pile of gold and treasure.

Noct, unaware that his childhood friendis in dire straits, gazes off lazily into the distance, chin cradled in the palm of his hand, elbow resting on a propped up knee. The sun is setting, casting everything in a warm orange light, and he suggests they all call it a night just as Ignis asks for him to pass him his last can of Ebony.

Noct starts, blue eyes meeting the tactician’s in the mirror, and takes his sweet time leaning over to paw through the bag of snacks on the floorboard by his feet. Six, he’s _sore_. And tired. So, so tired that he unthinkingly opens the can for Iggy (he thinks he’s being pretty damn _helpful_ by doing so, actually) before passing it over.

Noct yawns and queries, mostly out of habit, “I might’ve asked before, but is Ebony really all that good?”

Iggy purses his lips as he blindly reaches behind himself for the can. “I might’ve answered before, but _yes_ , it-”

Noct’s “helpfulness” ends when he releases the can before Ignis can get a proper hold on it. Canned coffee goes splashing everywhere and Prompto dramatically throws himself into the car door with a yelp. “My camera!”

Gladio cuts his amber eyes to Noct in irritation before wiping coffee droplets off of the cover of his book. “Nice going, butterfingers.”

No one is amused in the slightest when Noct interrupts his own half-assed apology with a poorly hidden snort. Everyone’s just a _tad bit_ pissy after such a perilous excursion, so they don’t have the patience for Noct’s nonsense. 

However, the Crown Prince doesn’t realize this. All he can gather is that something unfortunate _but funny_ happened and everyone’s acting like it’s the end of the world.

Not understanding why everyone is being so damn dramatic, the prince haughtily points out that it’s _his_ car that just got coffee spilled all in it, grumbling something about getting an earful from Cindy. 

Ignis drums his fingertips along the steering wheel before pulling into Hammerhead a bit too sharply.

Prompto stretches and cheers about soft beds and showers (emphasizing _showers_ and giving Noct a pointed look for the Ebony fiasco). Gladio, noticing the intense look the tactician is giving the prince, advises Prom that they should probably eat first before calling it a night. 

The blond doesn’t need the bodyguard to twist his arm, eager to dig in to Takka’s grade A cooking after that dungeon, especially if _someone else_ is buying. Gladio snorts and says he’s not paying now purely because of how presumptuous Prom is being.

“Aw, what?” Prom whines, entering the diner with Gladio. “I’m sorry!”

Ignis watches them go before cutting his eyes to the aloof prince. “Noct. A word.”

Noct knows that tone and he’s _not_ about to subject himself to a lecture. Without a word, Noctis brushes by the tactician and heads to the convenience store. Ebony is snatched from a shelf, slammed on the counter, and paid for before Ignis can even follow on the prince’s heels. 

The cashier is completely oblivious to the growing confrontation, chirping a cheery, “Have a good night!”

With slow, deliberate movements Ignis comes to stand in front of Noct, trapping him between his lithe body and the counter. He crosses his arms over his chest. Glasses glint under the harsh fluorescent lights as the prince’s advisor says lowly, “You should apologize, Noct.”

Noct opens the can and extends it towards the tactician, face set in an indifferent mask. “Here’s your coffee, Specs.” When Ignis doesn’t take it, Noct bumps it into the taller brunet’s arm, causing some Ebony to spill down his advisor’s front.

The cashier smiles awkwardly, eyes darting between the two men. “Uh… is there a problem?”

Ignis sighs, pushes his glasses up the elegant slope of his nose, and grabs the petulant prince by the upper-arm before hauling him out of the shop after him, Ebony spilling all the way. 

The cashier looks at the trail of brown splatters on the linoleum tile and sighs despondently before going to fetch the mop from the back room.

They’re out in the cool night air, almost at the caravan, when Noct yanks his arm from the older man’s grasp. “What gives? I bought you your stupid coffee.”

“It’s not just about the coffee, Noct,” Ignis snaps, clearly irritated with the prince’s bratiness. “You could have ruined both Prompto’s camera and Gladiolus’ book. Of course it was _just_ an accident, however you didn’t even give them a proper apology.”

“So that’s what this is? You’re pissed because you don’t think my apology was genuine enough?” Noct rolls his eyes. “Give me a break. It was funny! Y’know, _humor_? That thing you clearly have a hard time grasping?”

Okay. Ignis has _had it_. He and the others have been breaking their backs to protect Noct, to keep the prince’s spirits up and help him take back his kingdom. And what do they get in return? A simple “thank you” would suffice. But no. All they get is attitude at every turn, snark, and pettiness. 

And although Ignis Scientia likes to keep a level head and he knows that Noct is under a lot of stress… they’re _all_ under a lot of stress!

Iggy wishes he could lay all the blame for his actions on his fatigue and caffeine withdrawal. Because instead of keeping that level head of his, he snatches the can of Ebony out of Noct’s hand and throws the lukewarm coffee in the prince’s face. 

They both freeze in shock. 

From the window of Takka’s diner, where he’d been carefully keeping watch as Prom prattled on and on about everything and nothing, Gladio has a brush with death as he chokes on his sandwich.

Blue eyes narrow once the shock wears off. “And you wanna say _I_ was being immature?”

“Noct, I’m so-”

Noct yanks the can out of Ignis’ hand and throws what remains in the bespectacled man’s face. “There’s your coffee. Enjoy.” A sharp clang pierces the air as Noct throws the can on the ground. The prince turns on his heel and stomps off to the caravan. The door slams shut behind him with a bang.

Ignis lets out a sharp sigh before attempting to clean off his lenses. Unfortunately for him, his shirt is almost completely soaked with coffee. Even more unfortunate is that he has to enter the caravan so soon after Noct. Iggy’s no fool. He knows how long Noct can brood (the damn guy should win a medal for longest brooding session). 

He only hopes the raven-haired prince already shut himself up in the caravan’s single bedroom so that he can clean his glasses in peace.

No such luck.

When Ignis enters the caravan, Noct is leaning against the counter of the kitchenette, rubbing at his black shirt in vain with a paper towel, expression one of pure brooding. 

The second Iggy steps inside, the prince turns his back on his old friend, effectively giving him the cold shoulder. Ignis’ eyebrow twitches, the corner of his mouth ticking up into an amused smirk at his prince’s antics. But he snuffs it out. Six help him if Noct catches him mocking him.

The prince’s advisor waits a moment, watching as Noct’s shoulders move in his continued efforts to absorb the coffee from his shirt. He’s burning through paper towels at an alarming rate, piling them up on the countertop, all white and caramel stained. The excessive waste is starting to get on Ignis’ nerves.

“Remove your shirt and I’ll have it washed,” Ignis sighs, extending his hand to the prince.

Noct barely turns his head to shoot Iggy a glare over his shoulder. “No.”

“ _Noct_.”

In an instant the prince spins around and barks, “ _What_?”

With a strained sigh, Ignis pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry.” 

He’s about to continue his apology (albeit with some added and _much needed_ scolding for the prince about minding his manners and needing to be a bit more conscientious about what the others are going through) when he finds his glasses being plucked right off of his face. Green eyes blink in surprise as he watches the brooding prince take a clean paper towel to the lenses.

“Noct-”

"Quiet," Noct growls, leaning back heavily against the counter of the kitchenette and wiping the coffee from the lenses. After a moment, he turns to add some water to the napkin and resumes his work.

Ignis bites his lip, torn between letting his little prince apologize in his own way and pointing out that glasses really shouldn’t be cleaned with rough paper towels. Noct looks up at exactly that moment, blue eyes zeroing in on the way Ignis takes his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Eyes smolder and Iggy almost takes a step back when he realizes it, suddenly feeling like there isn’t enough space in the small kitchen. Hell, the whole caravan seems to shrink when he’s under Noct’s simmering gaze.

He’s seen that look before; across the campfire after the others have gone to sleep, after a hard-fought battle, when they’d accidentally lock eyes in the Regalia’s rearview mirror. Hell, even before they left Insomnia Ignis had noticed his charge giving him those heated looks. 

And Iggy isn’t fool enough to not know the meaning behind it.

Slowly, Noct puts Ignis’ glasses down on the counter behind him and crosses his arms. “Is there something you wanna tell me, Specs?”

Iggy clears his throat (damn, it’s so dry for some reason), and says, “You might’ve scratched the lenses with that napkin.”

Noct gives him a blank look. “Seriously? _That’s_ what you wanted to say?” The prince scoffs and swipes the glasses off of the counter before nearly forcing them into Ignis’ awaiting hands. “Here. You’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Ignis murmurs, genuinely grateful though it’s lost on Noct in his foul mood.

“Whatever.”

Ignis’ lips quirk again into a smirk. Though Noct’s bad mood usually promises that the others are in for a gloomy trip and a lashing from the prince’s sharp tongue, Iggy can’t help but find the prince’s pout amusing. 

It’s always been this way since they were younger. Noct pouts and everyone kowtows. But right now, Ignis isn’t feeling too generous. He’s not going to just let Noct have his mood and then act like nothing even happened.

With his index finger, Ignis pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and queries, “Should I show you what a proper apology looks like, Noct?”

Those blue eyes are on him in an instant. “What?” There’s a hint of exasperation in his voice as he groans, “Really? You’re _still_ going on about the stupid Eb-”

The prince finds himself suddenly being spun around, hands slapping onto the countertop followed by Ignis’ gloves. 

The tactician reaches around the prince to unbutton his pants and slowly, painstakingly pull the zipper down- it feels like it takes an age and Noct is about to snap at the brunet to hurry the hell up when the world seems to stop. 

Eyelids flutter as Ignis’ agile fingers wrap around him (Six, he cringes when he realizes he’d already been hard the second Iggy grabbed his arm in the convenience store… What the hell’s that about?) and he finds himself eagerly shoving his pants down to allow the taller man easier access.

Fight? What fight?

Ignis trails kisses along the prince’s neck before Noct struggles to pull his shirt off, wanting to feel the brunet’s mouth all over his skin. The shirt reeks of coffee and is on the floor in the blink of an eye. 

Noct can feel the way the tactician smirks along his shoulders, but he’s too caught up in the way Iggy’s hand glides along his cock, thumb circling the head, and the way his kisses feel like fire on his skin to care about silly things like pride.

Noct rolls his head to the side with a sigh. Ignis’ tongue comes out to play, tasting the Ebony on Noct’s neck, thinking that throwing coffee in the Crown Prince’s face might’ve actually been a good move. 

A throaty moan escapes from between the prince’s clenched teeth when Ignis nips at his jaw before grabbing the prince’s chin and forcing him to turn his face and kiss him.

It’s slow and full of meaning, almost torturously glacial in movement. Ignis wants this to last but, alas, Noct is pushy. 

Tongues mingle and Noct can taste the Ebony on Ignis’ lips. 

“ _Yes_ ,” he thinks to himself, barely even lucid now, “ _it really is that good_.”

As Ignis’ strokes become more and more urgent, pushing Noct closer and closer to the edge, the prince smacks the tactician’s hand away before fumbling with the cabinets. 

Ignis watches on for a moment, brow furrowed, until the prince finds what he’s looking for.

An elegant eyebrow is arched as the fully-dressed royal advisor simpers, “I don’t believe that’s the intended purpose of that particular olive oil, Noct.”

Noct shoots him an irritated look, cheeks and neck still flushed with arousal, pupils still blown wide. “I don’t _care_.”

It’s a struggle not to laugh at the petulant prince, but Iggy manages. He’d hate to ruin the mood, after all. 

One elegant spin later and Noct is back in position, hands braced on the cool countertop, Ignis’ damning lips on his neck and that criminally skilled hand on his cock.

Noct is fairly certain he’s not going to be able to smell that damn Ebony again without getting aroused. But that doesn’t matter now, because Ignis has just slicked his fingers with oil and Noct knows what’s coming next. 

As Noct braces himself, Ignis resorts to underhanded teasing; removing his hand from the prince’s aching cock to run it up his abdomen, the prince’s muscles twitching underneath his palm. Noct is about to complain when Ignis’ fingertips dig into his hip, ripping a yelp from him.

Breath fills his ear as Ignis chuckles, “Ticklish, are we?”

“Shut it, Specs. Just get on with-”

For once, Ignis isn’t letting the bossy prince finish a damn thing he’s saying. Payback for always talking over him. Ignis slips his fingers inside of Noct, feeling the prince tighten around him with a grin. 

In mere moments Noct is a quivering, sweating mess. He’s pressed his forehead against the counter, the coolness a welcome respite for his heated flesh. Swears fall from his lips without thought, a literal stream of consciousness if that consciousness is nothing more than cursing and begging and Ignis’ name.

"Is this what I must do to pull you out of your wretched moods?" Ignis asks teasingly, breath ghosting across Noct’s neck, still working his criminally nimble fingers in and out of the prince.

Noct can’t get his bearings for the life of him to snark back, the feeling of Ignis’ body pressed against him, one lean, strong arm anchoring him to the tactician as the prince leans heavily against the kitchen counter, elbows pressed hard into the cold surface, raven hair sticking to his face. 

All he can smell is Ignis’ cologne mingling with the roasted scent of coffee. It creates a heady fog that Noct quickly loses himself in.

He’s vaguely even aware of the sound of Ignis’ zipper being pulled down. But he’s definitely jolted back into reality when he feels the tactician pushing into him. Noct whines at the sensation of Ignis stretching and filling him. 

Ignis takes it slow at first, not wanting to hurt his precious prince, but Noct is nothing if not needy and impatient, grinding himself back against the taller man.

Ignis resumes stroking Noct as he thoroughly and roughly fucks him at a steady pace, tightening his hold on the prince’s abdomen with his forearm, fingers digging into the slick flesh of his side. 

Noct’s sure he’ll have bruises from Ignis’ fingertips but he doesn’t give a damn (and he won’t tell the tactician, since he fears Iggy might feel bad about it and it might ruin the chances of this happening again).

They’re on fire now. 

Ignis’ pace is erratic and damning. Noct’s name comes tumbling off of his lips, tension coiling hot in his gut, tightening and tightening until he’s driving into Noct relentlessly for release. 

The prince finds his own release on Iggy’s hand, moans swallowed greedily by the tactician with a hungry kiss right before he comes undone.

Their collective panting fills the small caravan. The room is hot and smells of Ebony and sweat. Noct makes note that he should _probably_ crack a window before the others enter. Though… that won’t be for a while. 

Gladio had already been wise to the tension between the tactician and the prince, so he’s been stalling in the diner with Prom since he doesn’t want to scar himself or the blond sharpshooter.

Noct brushes his bangs out of his eyes, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. “I’m guessing you don’t want me to apologize to the others like this.”

Ignis chuckles lowly. “Certainly not.” He pulls away and bends down to take Noct’s shirt with him, smirking at the way the prince whines at the loss of contact. “I’ll have this washed as promised.”


End file.
